You went away, and according to your custom,
began to ponder, to think it over; and it came to pass, as I was
afraid it would, that you philosophized away your own happiness and
that of another." What strikes me most in Sniatynski's words is
that they are almost a repetition of what my father said to me. But
Sniatynski penetrates deeper; for he adds almost immediately: "It is
the old story,--he who inquires too deeply into his own mind ends by
disagreeing with himself; and who disagrees with himself is incapable
of any decision. Truly times must be out of joint, when only asses
have any power of action left, and those who have a little more
intelligence use it to doubt everything, and to persuade themselves
that it is not worth while to attempt anything." I have read similar
observations in one of the French authors; and by Jove! he is right.
I almost wish Sniatynski had given me a downright scolding, instead of
larding his letter with sentences like this "In spite of all your good
qualities it will come to this, that you will always be a cause of
suffering and anxiety to those who love you." He brings it home with a
vengeance. I have caused suffering to Aniela, her mother, and my-aunt,
and to myself also. I feel inclined to laugh a little as I read
further: "According to the laws of nature, there is always something
growing within us; beware, lest it be a poisonous weed that will
destroy your whole existence!" No,--I am not afraid of that.
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